


Darkness, To Emptiness

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-24
Updated: 2006-02-24
Packaged: 2018-08-15 16:36:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8063857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: In the future Archer reflects back on the woman...and battle...that changed his life forever, for better, and for worse. Archer/f. (07/03/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: In the fine tradition of bare bones newgroup posting, anything between these guys // // is a thought or flashback.  


* * *

He woke in darkness, to emptiness.

Jon Archer was a bitterly simple man, had no illusions. His current position had nothing at all to do with talent and intelligence, everything to do with sheer luck and years of effort, of wasted time. So he believed they believed, and so he told himself nightly on the time estranged journey, lying in a cold bed and staring out at stars that had somehow ceased to mean anything at all to him.

Once, back before they had started keeping records tied up in so called Federation stamps and pomp, he had been the first Captain of the Enterprise. These days, he was an old man, clinging to a changing throne, waking to darkness, to emptiness.

Slipping a finger around to clean the edge of the mug he held, Jon sat on the edge of his rack, only faintly mindful of the sudden nudging at his elbow. They had become sacraments, midnight tea leaves and silent stargazing. His companions, Beowulf the latest of them, never quite understood the importance.

"The Fates are cantankerous." He warned suddenly, words directed more to the stars than the beagle.

The pup moaned; ears flattening as his master stood. Archer only grunted in turn, stepping over to the newly designed, sparse 'Fleet standard desk and lifting the sole picture from it.

In darkness, in emptiness, it was a luxury he selfishly afforded himself after so many years, some odd technology that made her smile shimmer with the brilliance of a thousand pearls and her eyes almost dance. At times, if he chose to, he could almost forget that it wasn't flesh and blood trapped within the frame, waiting for him to set her free.

Set her free. Archer damned the technology, damned not knowing where it came from.

He knew Starfleet had nothing like it. Hell, he knew the Vulcans had nothing like it.

He preferred to hope that the Suliban had nothing like it. He had, after all, found it on his borrowed Captain's rack only hours ago...a late farewell gift, he guessed, some fifty odd years late. Fifty odd years ago, his Star had been the sole casualty of a Suliban attack on the Enterprise. No body, no warning.  
One night she had been in his arms, and the next morning she had been taken...or  
had left.

The picture really wasn't all that warming. Her face seemed thinner within its lens, her hair different. Was that white that tangled through it, or simply illusion? Illusion, it was the conclusion he forced himself to reach. If it wasn't illusion, she was somewhere...would be somewhere, had been somewhere... aging, living. It was easier to grieve, if he considered her a ghost. The picture was a fluke. One of the smart-assed new crew had probably found it on file from decades back, during the original mission, and after a little manipulation had sent it as a welcoming gift. Star and their affair were about the only things he was remembered for in this day, after all.

No, she hadn't placed the picture on the bed her memory still inhabited. There  
was no hope.

Guilt...Jon Archer knew guilt well enough to survive it.

Grip slipping, he stared down at the tea leaves momentarily, seeking a pattern. On their last night together, she had read a dagger somewhere amongst the froth. No matter that he was about as imaginative as your average rock; he had kept the habit up.

Daggers had always signified danger to him. It was common sense, he had more than adequately shared his feelings on the subject, had dashed the teacup against a bulkhead. She hadn't disagreed with his thoughts that midnight, but  
her loving had been of a different nature, and tears had bled onto his shoulder as she slept. When he had woken, their dried paths and the shattered china had been all that remained.

"What do you think?" The retired Captain asked the beagle, peering downward and into the dark brew.

//Snakes I like, Jon, some of them brag diamonds, and shed skin...//

Elegant predators had always been as much a favorite of hers as minimalist innocents, his Star, sardonic defender of all, lover of oddities and pariahs.

"A snake it is, Beowulf." He decided, the picture capturing his attention again. White-spindled Star smiled tears at him.

//...diamonds if you can bear the rough...//

"I'm tired." Dropping the picture, he sat heavily at the desk, eyes squinting to see the view outside. "I feel old. I'm not sure I mean anything, not sure I ever did. These kids are shuttling me as a tribute to my former glory, and half of them don't even remember what it is I did. None of them care."

Quietly, he stared beyond the view port. "To be honest, I don't either at times. I know that I loved, and lost. I know that I lived, and that I'm ready to die. Maybe I agreed to come here because I needed another reason not to kick the bucket, maybe I wanted a little more self-torture. Maybe I'm senile and that's all there is behind this picture. Or maybe you know that suicidal part of me too and aren't ready to let me give in...maybe that's what's behind this picture, you dropping cherry blossoms from the future or the past and mocking my devotion and my legacy. Maybe you know something I don't...but I know everything you don't. That Amazonian journey you wanted to take me on? I went. It was amazing. The house on a cliff we talked of? You can see the ocean stretch to forever on a clear day. The feel of baby down against my arms? I felt it, many times. The joys and sorrows of growing old with someone who understands you, loves you selflessly? Liz gave that honor to me. Did you get any of that, wherever you are? Did they let you have that? I hope so."

//Our life in this world -  
to what shall I compare it?  
It's like an echo  
resounding through the mountains  
and off into the empty sky.//

She had loved that poem. Archer didn't recall who had written it, but felt a certain kinship with the poor bastard. "If you brought that picture, I don't know what it is you're doing out there." He continued quietly, stroking Beowulf's silky ears. "But don't think you can be forgotten. Darkness is no armor, and emptiness always carries an echo, like the wind off those god forsaken cliffs. And don't think I blame you. Maybe you did choose to go with them. Maybe you even chose not to return. I think you had a reason or two. But like a lot of us do, I suppose you might have gotten off track, gotten lost. Fate is a runaway train, faster than warp."

Standing, he dashed the teacup against the nearest bulkhead. "I loved you, Hoshi, but the road to hell is paved with good intentions."


End file.
